As summer draws to a conclusion (in my hemisphere, at least), here’s a (sort of) tribute to the season’s least appreciated occupant.
I dreamed I was a fat mosquito
and thought it not a sin
to drain the blood of every human
to pierce and pock their skin.
I was a loving ‘squito mama
with a lot of larvae,
Denzel, Jane and Wilhelmina,
Emmy, Joe and Harvey.
I lived a life deemed worthy by
the insect god Big Kevin,
and thus was asked to come and live
with him in ‘squito Heaven.
Mitch Teemley 
there was a ‘squito from Toledo, knew not where to go, when an Okie from Muskogee, carelessly upon it he sat, and that was that.
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A hellish vision, indeed!
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There once was a poet named Mitch
Who found all his rhymes without a hitch
Then the skeeters came a’biting
And Mitch could do no writing
For his fingers were busy scratching his itch
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Been there!
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Outstanding, Mitch!
Years ago on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, while fishing from the pier and waiting for a falling tide, we named the mosquito as state bird. I love your poem!!
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Yet, it is heaven to the Big Bird who stalks you and moves in for the kill.
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Big fish, little fish…
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I love thus!!!
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Mitch, Here in Texas, Mosquitos are fat at the time of their first flight.
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I knew it! Minions of the Underworld.
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